


The Choice I Make Everyday

by LegionWithHisBadassN7Armor



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Art, Bipolar Disorder, Cheating, Drama & Romance, Drug Use, Drunkenness, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Heartbreak, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, How Do I Tag, Jealousy, Male Homosexuality, Masturbation, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Piano Sex, Piercings, Possessive Behavior, Protectiveness, Romance, Scars, Sports, Suicide Attempt, Swearing, Tattoos, Teen Romance, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 16:34:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14140041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LegionWithHisBadassN7Armor/pseuds/LegionWithHisBadassN7Armor
Summary: MIkhael Komandi, an average highschooler living for hockey suffers an injury before the most important games of the year. What is a guy living for hockey when you take hockey away from him? However Mikhael's luck seems to be turning as he meets Sam who loves cigarettes almost as much as he loves art. Why does Mikhael, a straight athlete, keep thinking about a guy who can be as passionate as he can be distant? Featuring an overprotective mom and the most annoying and best friends.





	The Choice I Make Everyday

**Author's Note:**

> My first original work that actually started off as a sims family. English is not my first language so there'll probably be a lot of mistakes. I hope the text is still readable (and enjoyable)! Not beta'ed! The first chapter's ending is rather clumsy as I just kept writing and writing. I just had to cut it somewhere..
> 
> I suck at summaries  
> and everything else as well  
> in case you didn't notice

 

The undivided focus of mine was fixated solely on the puck sliding in front of me. I was so close to reaching it and the impending figure in the corner of my eye only made me skate faster. I was closer to the puck and I was faster than him. I thought I could reach it, but just as my hockey stick was about to connect with the black rubber, I was smashed against the perimeter of the rink. I yelped as in addition to the loud slam of my body hitting the hard surface, I heard a nasty crack coming from my wrist. The pain came a second later; it felt as my entire arm was on fire. The pain was radiating from the wrist as far as to shoulder. I grit my teeth in order to prevent a cry escaping past my lips. I managed to bring the aching arm to my chest. I was breathing hard through my nose; the pain wasn’t relenting, if anything, it was only getting worse. I figured I must’ve broken my wrist. Suddenly someone grabbed my shoulder.  
“Hey man, you alright?” I heard Parkson’s voice. I turned my head to his direction so he’d see my pained expression. His worried eyes trailed from the wince on my face to the shaking arm I was holding to my chest.  
“Komandi, you good?” coach was yelling from the other side of the ice.  
“Negative. Think something happened to his arm,” Parkson replied on my behalf. The sound of skates on ice could no longer be heard as most of the guys had gathered around me and Parkson. If the pain hadn’t been as agonizing as it was, I would’ve been pretty damned embarrassed. I had always hated being the the central of attention, and as if that wasn’t enough, I was hindering the practise. I shook Parkson’s hand off my shoulder and started making my way through the crowd. As I was nearing the exit of the rink, coach blocked my path.  
“Let me see that,” he offered his hand.  
“Tis’ fine,” I mumbled. He stared at my arm in disbelief. I pushed past him but he stopped me by my shoulder. I let out a low grumble.  
“Komandi, show me your arm,” coach repeated with a stern voice.  
“Tis’ probably broken,” I managed to grunt.  
“Fucking hell,” he gasped.  
“Broken? Did ya say broken?” Parkson yelled from the crowd. As coach was momentarily distracted by him, I managed to skate the remaining meters to the exit. I just wanted get away from the damned rink and have someone ease the throbbing pain. With one hand, I started untying the laces of my skates. It turned about to be rather hard and in the end I was just furiously yanking them in every direction.  
“And just where the hell you think you’re going?” coach asked. I barely registered the sounds around me. All I could think of was that my wrist couldn’t really be broken. Fuck, it hurts.  
“Parkson, go with him,” coach finally sighed as was apparent he wouldn’t get much out me. I didn’t need Parkson, If only I could’ve gotten the damn skates off. I kept tugging at the laces but I only managed to create a tight overhand knot. I cursed under my breath.  
“I don’t need help,” I spat and returned to untying the laces. Ignoring me, Parkson crouched in front of me and slapped my hand off the laces. To some relief, the practice seemed to continue, although coach kept looking in our way. After a while Parkson managed to pull both my skates off.  
“Okay Mister Stubborn-Ungrateful-Son-of-a-Bitch,” he patted my knee as he got up. I didn’t even bother to reply.

***

The wrist had indeed broken which meant I wasn’t allowed on ice in two months. _Two months_. For all I knew it could’ve been three years. Wouldn’t have made a damned difference. I was the best fuckning forward our school ever had had, and would miss the most important games of the year. There was a good reason why Alba had been a substitute since he’d been accepted to the team. Walking home, I was so furious I felt I could’ve ripped the fucking plaster cast off my arm. I kicked every litter and stone that got in my way. My phone kept buzzing in my pocket and I all I wanted to do was to slam the damned thing to the ground. I knew it was Parkson or some other guys from the team. I really didn’t feel like answering whether I was fine or not. Of course I wasn’t fine. And neither were they with Alba as their forward. I thanked God mom wasn’t yet home when I arrived. I marched to my room, tossed my backpack to the floor and slumped down onto the hard mattress of my bed. I brought my arm to my eyes to shield them from the annoyingly beautiful afternoon sunset. I took a deep breath before letting out a sigh. _Why now? Why did the damned wrist had to snap now? Of all times? Why not few months later? Fucking Simmons. Fuck him. Or was it Hayes? Fuck them both. Fuck the wrist, fuck the plaster cast, fuck the games, fuck the team---_

I had been listing things that could just fuck off for a while, and after what felt like a blink of an eye I was woken by a the sound of the front door being slammed shut. I blinked a few times. Normally I hated taking naps and even more so when I just fell asleep. The wrist was aching a lot. I cursed under my breath. I had no idea how much time had passed. It was dark outside so I figured I had been out at least for an hour.  
“Mikhael, are you home?” mom yelled from the hallway. I groaned and rubbed my sleepy eyes. I would never hear the end of her fussing over my injury. I pondered whether I should answer or not. Could’ve just pretended I was part of the mattress. There was a gentle knock coming from the door.  
“Yeah, mom, I’m here,” I half sighed. I braced myself as I the door was opened. Her warm smile quickly faded away when her eyes trailed to the cast. She cried out my name as she jumped to my side. I gripped her shaking hand and gently moved it off the cast. I told her I was fine but she wasn’t having it. _You should’ve called me! Why didn’t you call?_ she kept wailing. I really wasn’t in the mood to listen to her cries. I knew she was worried but her worry was needless. There was nothing she could’ve done and my broken wrist really had nothing to do with her. She couldn’t have fixed it and her fussing just kept getting on my nerves. Waking up from deep sleep had made me cranky, not to mention the wrist kept aching. Everything had went to shit that day and the last thing I needed was mom worrying about me. In the end it took about three and a half hours for mom to calm down. Okay, a slight overstatement. She did leave to make me _knish_ but kept checking on me every five minutes. I just gave her the thumbs up everytime. After dinner I returned to my room and closed the door behind me. I knew I wasn’t treating mom right but I was dead tired despite the nap and wanted nothing more than to sleep the pain and the entire day off. I glugged down a painkiller before collapsing on the sorry excuse of a mattress. The springs let out a sound similar to a dying pig. I groaned and pulled the covers over my head.

***

Turns out sleeping with a plastic cast wasn’t as comfortable as it sounds. And it doesn’t even sound comfortable so one can imagine what kind of an experience it really is. The painkillers had taken the worst of the pain away but the wrist still kept pulsing. I woke up a few times in horror as I was about to roll over my bad arm. Eventually I was able to truly fall asleep but as always it felt like I had slept for a couple minutes before the alarm dragged my consciousness back to my body. I rubbed my face as I got up to sit on the bed. I was relieved to find the flat empty. It never took me long to get ready; a toast with a slice of mettwurst, a sweatshirt and a pair of jeans or sweats, depending on the day. It took me a tad longer to get dressed as I had to watch out for the cast. Still I was almost ready in about half an hour. I was a little late, but I’d still make it to the class almost in time. Almost. All I left was packing my back. I’ve never been the most organized person so usually I just stuffed my pack with maybe half of the books I actually needed. I took a painkiller before tossing the can on top of the books. As I had finished my very organized packing I threw the backpack over my shoulder and headed out. _Everything will be fine, just avoid Parkson and the others_ , I kept telling myself. I really wasn’t ready to face them. The disappointment that would spread through their faces when they’d realise they’re going to be playing with Alba instead of me. Parkson had sent me a ton of lines, the last ones mostly written in uppercase. Every other word was some variation of the word fuck. Acting like a huge douche really rubbed me off the wrong way. Sure, some people had described me as rather sullen, but moping like a brat just wasn’t my style. I knew I wasn’t handling the situation very well, but I just couldn’t help myself. Avoiding everyone was just that much easier. I’d deal with it in time. I replied _‘I’m fine really. thanks for ur help yesterday’_ to Parkson. That would have to do. Just thinking about the whole thing made me want to hit something so I went back to replaying the _‘everything will be fine’_ mantra in my head. 

***

Eventually I made it to the classroom only ten minutes late. _Not too bad_ , I thought to myself as I knocked on the door. I was expecting Mrs. Kennedy to open, but instead of her I was faced with Mr. Carlton, the biology teacher. I looked past him to see the entire class staring at me. _Why the hell is a biology teacher holding a math lesson? And why don’t I recognize nearly anyone? What the hell?_ I must’ve looked pretty dumbfounded as Mr. Carlton coughed to get my attention.  
“You must’ve read your schedule wrong. This course is already full,” he half whispered. I blinked a few times. _Full course? Oh shit._ It hit me like a truck. With everything that had happened I had completely forgotten about the changing period. _Great, great_. Mr. Carlton who seemed to be as confused as I was, offered to look up which class I was actually supposed to be. Turned out I had history, course 5. _National relations in between World Wars._

 _Great, great_ , I kept mentally slapping myself as I was sprinting along the empty corridors. Of course the damn history class had to be at the other side of the building. The wrist was pulsing. Again. I had half a mind to just go back home. Maybe kick a trash can on my way. Mom hated whenever I cut classes so I was pretty diligent with attendances. I didn’t really understand the point of truancy either. It sounds a little pretentious but I really felt lucky I was able to go to school. Not that I was any good; at best my grades were around 7. Still, I didn’t like to take school for granted. I took almost nothing for granted. After running for at least a good five minutes I finally got to the history class. I tried to calm my breath by taking a few deep breaths. I knocked on the door. I waited but nothing happened. I heard someone talking. _For christ’s sake can’t nothing work out?_ I was just about to knock again when I heard someone’s footsteps coming from the stairwell. It was some punker guy I had seen briefly maybe three or four times in the period of two years. He lifted his gaze from the stairs and our eyes met. I turned my face away from him but couldn’t help but to taking another look. The guy certainly stood out; he was rocking guyliner and a worn out, oversized parka filled with pins, patches and a couple of safety-pins. His black hair was obviously dyed as there was a tint of light ginger at the roots. For some reason I let out a small gasp as I realised he was walking towards me. The closer the guy got, the stronger the smell of tobacco got. I had no idea why I still kept staring at him. Well, obviously he looked quite prominent but that wasn’t an excuse to keep goggling at this random dude. _He has so many freckles_ , I found myself thinking. _How could someone have that many freckles, his whole face is covered--_  
“Did you knock?” the guy asked. _Shit, he’s talking to me. What the hell am I doing anyway, looking at some guy’s freckled face?_ It took me a tad too long to answer as I was somewhat confused that the freckled guy was talking to me.  
“Yeah, I did but-”  
“No one answered, right?” he finished what I was about to say, “He’s got this weird ‘twenty minutes rule going on.”  
“A twenty minute rule?” I asked. _So the teacher is some kind of a pettifogger. Great. The day just keeps getting better and better._  
“He’s gonna open that door when twenty minutes has passed since the start of the lesson,” he said as he tugged a strand of hair behind his ear. I noticed there were remains of black nail polish on his nails. _Okay, stop making weird notions about a complete stranger. I mean his style is a little ostentatious...Not that there’s anything wrong with that...STOP! For fuck’s sake, he’s just some random guy with distinctive look...and freckles. Damn there’s a lot freckles._  
“What the hell? Why?” I finally snorted. The guy looked at me before speaking again; “It interrupts the lesson if latecomers keep knocking on the door. Easier to just let them all in at the same time.” _Huh. That actually makes sense._ I nodded a few times in approval. There was about five minutes left before the teacher supposedly opens the door. I knew I couldn’t have kept the banter up for five long minutes. I wasn’t even sure if the guy wanted to have a chat. I figured it would awkward to just stand there. It’s not that I was shy or anything, small talk just wasn’t my cup of tea. Mom used to say I got it from my father. Luckily I didn’t have to come up with something to say as the guy kept going.  
“So, what happened to your arm?” he asked. I tensed and he obviously noticed it as he turned his face away. _Shit. Now he thinks I don’t want to talk with him._ I panicked a little as he shoved his hands to his pockets and started to stroll around the corridor.  
“I-I hurt it during a practise,” I blurted. Saying it out loud made me feel nauseated. The guy stopped and looked at me again. He must caught on my little stuttering as he gave me an apologetic smile. After a short pause he spoke again; “So you’re Mikhael Komandi.”  
“Huh? You know me?”  
“Only by name. I mean you’re the best forward our team has had in a long ass time. Or so I’ve heard” _God, it felt so much better to hear it from someone else’s lips._ I tried to keep pride out of my voice; “What gave me away?” The guy let out a small chuckle; “No offense, but I’m getting some serious Russian vibes from you.”  
“Past' zakroi,” (shut it) I snorted. _Should I ask his name? I mean he knows who I am and it’s not like I can keep calling him ‘guy’._ “So you know who I am. Care to shar-,” I was interrupted by the classroom door that was opened. The teacher -Mr. Fisher- was a tall and skinny man with glasses which were way too big for his narrow face. He eyed me and the guy whose name I didn’t get with a disapproving look. I could’ve sworn he frowned at the freckled guy. He looked like some ugly-ass vulture.  
“Names please,” he asked as he kept staring at my cast. I told him my name, and as he apparently found my name in his list he told me to take a seat. _Yay, the front line. Well that’s what you get for being late._ Before I sat down I let my gaze wander around the class. No familiar faces. A part of me was happy because that meant I didn’t have to face Parkson or the others. _Well, none of the guys from the team were really ‘history course 5-type of guys’ anyways._  
“And you?” Mr. Fisher turned his icy gaze to the guy who was still standing at the doorway. The guy’s expression didn’t even flinch.  
“Sam Nordman,” he said, voice full of confidence. Sam. Sam, Sam. I rolled his name on my tongue. Fisher told him to take a seat as well. Sam looked at me and then the empty seat next to me. He raised his brows slightly as to ask whether the seat was taken or not. I gave him a small nod and the corner of his mouth twitched a little. He sat next to me and dropped his worn out backpack to the ground. For a moment I didn’t spare a thought to the cast, all I could think of was how on earth I’d been going to the same with Sam for two years, and never spoken a word to him. 

***

Turned out Fisher was just as annoying nitpicker as he seemed to have been. From time to time he kept glaring at me and Sam as to say em>‘how dare you young punks arrive at my class late?’ Sam didn’t seem to mind. He seemed rather absent minded as he kept wiggling his leg under the desk. I realised I’d been staring at Sam’s wiggling leg for some time and I returned my attention to Fisher as he started to talk about a project that would be an important part of the course. Apparently it was a pair project. Each pair would have to choose a country and make thorough presentation about it and at the end of the course we’d evaluate each country’s relations with all the others. I kept glancing at Sam’s direction. He seemed really out it; his green eyes were glued to floor in front of him. His leg was wiggling even faster.  
“...you may choose you partner,” I heard Fisher say. Everyone started immediately chatting and pairing up. All I could think of was what had gotten into Sam. He seemed...anxious? It was as if he didn’t even hear what Fisher had been explaining. _Or maybe he doesn’t want to be my pair so he just pretends he didn’t hear anything._  
“Hey, uh, Sam do you--,” I was interrupted as someone grabbed my shoulder. I turned to see who it was. I couldn’t stop the yelp escaping my throat. Brown curly hair, classes and a dumb smile. _Alba. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Of course the last person I wanted to see had to be in the same fucking course._ I exhaled through my nose. _What the hell am I supposed to say? Does he know? Well, genius, you have a plastic cast on your arm, so you can do the math by yourself._  
“Wow, I gotta say I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” Alba kept smiling at me. I caught him taking a look at the cast. I knew I was probably glaring at him as his smile faltered a little.  
“So, uh, you wanna do the project with me?” he let out a forced laugh. Alba sounded so nervous that you would think he was just about to pee himself. _Fucking Alba, just fuck off!_ He just kept staring at me, waiting for my answer. I opened my mouth to say something.  
“Sorry, he already promised to be my pair,” Sam cut in. I turned to look at him. Sam kept staring at Alba with an expressionless look in his eyes.  
“Oh...o-okay then. I’m just gonna, uh....Um, see you later Komandi,” I heard Alba stutter. I just kept looking at Sam.  
“What?” he shrugged at me as soon as Alba had left.  
“Thanks for that,” I said and truly meant it. I didn’t have a glue what I would’ve said to Alba if Sam hadn’t butted in.  
“No problem. The guy seemed like a hindrance“, he said nonchalantly, “You don’t really have to be my pair, I just--”  
“No! I mean, I can be your partner,” I interrupted. Hell yeah I wanted to be Sam’s partner. He seemed to have somewhat returned to this world as he smiled at me. 


End file.
